


The Trials and Tribulations of Pumpkin Dumplings

by sadkittiehours



Series: Brendon the Cat That Turned Human verse [4]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Catboys & Catgirls, M/M, patrick is a cat turned human, so is Brendon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 02:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30082299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadkittiehours/pseuds/sadkittiehours
Summary: Patrick is a purebred tabby Persian. He is proud of his lineage—straight from the homeland itself only three generations back. He is a beautiful cat. That being said, there is no reason he can possibly think of as to why he’s been second-named Pumpkin Dumplings.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Series: Brendon the Cat That Turned Human verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2213340
Kudos: 5





	The Trials and Tribulations of Pumpkin Dumplings

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was taken off the [ Big God Damn Masterlist](https://fobfics.tumblr.com/post/34177428707/okubyokitsunes-big-goddamn-masterlistpdf/) you can use that link to download the pdf of almost 500 pages of bandom fic.

Patrick is a purebred tabby Persian. He is proud of his lineage—straight from the homeland itself only three generations back. He is a beautiful cat. That being said, there is no reason he can possibly think of as to why he’s been second-named Pumpkin Dumplings. 

\---

“No, no, I insist! He’d be perfect for you! And he’ll love Hemingway, I promise. They’ll get along great!” 

Patrick idly watches his human babble on the phone to someone, tail flicking back and forth in mild annoyance. He’s pretty sure she’s talking about him, which is a laugh, because Patrick doesn’t love anyone other than his mom. Sometimes his dad and his siblings, if they’re lucky. He won’t be getting along anytime soon. She’s clearly lying to whoever’s on the other end of the phone, and Patrick might feel a little bad for them, if he wasn’t about to be relocated.

Hopping down from his perch on top of the television, Patrick ambles his way over to his mother’s side. He butts up under her chin and purrs brokenly, not used to making the sound. “She’s sending me away, mother,” he says simply, pressing his nose to hers quickly for a tiny kiss. 

She grabs him with one paw and tucks him close to her body, starting up a bath he’s too old to be getting from her, but he doesn’t squirm away like his siblings would. “It’s no wonder,” she says between licks at his ear. “You haven’t been the best behaved kitten, have you?” she asks, nudging his head up so she can get at his neck. 

“I guess not,” he replies, going onto his back so she can clean his belly. It’s a farewell bath, he knows. He doesn’t correct her, either, because nine-going-on-ten months old isn’t really a kitten anymore. “I’m just not interested in any of the stuff she wants me to be interested in. I don’t want to be a show cat, and I don’t want to breed. Girls are annoying.” Patrick watches upside-down as one of his brothers stalks a dust bunny around the living room.

“And just what do you think I am?” his mother asks, nipping his paw affectionately. 

He looks back at her and scrunches his nose. “You’re my mom, not a girl,” he explains, poking his tongue out at her. She purrs lovingly at him and he purrs back, content to spend his last night here with her.

\---

Patrick explores every room in Pete’s somewhat-giant house as soon as Pete lets him out of his carrier. Everything smells like dog, but not in a bad way. Not in an overpowering way, anyways. There is dirty laundry everywhere and Patrick ignores the urge to push his nose into the fabric and take a nap in favor of going into the living room to find his perch. 

He’s met with his new human, the short, dark-haired man that laughs too much and too loudly and hugged Patrick to his chest far too tightly when he picked him up that morning. He smells like chemicals and ink and exhaustion and Patrick isn’t too sure how he feels about him, yet. 

“Pumpkin Dumplings!” Pete cries out, squatting down and opening his arms wide. 

He keeps his arms out, smile splitting his face while Patrick stands paused in the middle of the room, one paw still in the air. Patrick wonders if Pumpkin Dumplings is the name of the dog, even though he could have sworn it was Hemingway. 

Pete keeps staring at him, grin slowly falling. “What’s wrong, Pumpkin Dumplings? Do you not like it here? Is it not kitty-friendly enough?” 

Patrick goes absolutely stock-still for ten seconds before taking a deep breath, and hacking up the hairball he’d been saving to cough out in the back yard. He ignores Pete frantic cries in favor of making sure it’s the wettest, globbiest thing he’s ever produced. 

And he was an incontinent kitten. 

\---

When Patrick finally meets Hemingway, Pete has a friend over. The guy has a lot of curly hair on his head and glasses and a glazed look in his eyes and Patrick sort of likes him. Especially when the guy spends the first five minutes he’s there ignoring Pete and stroking Patrick’s stomach gently. Patrick figures he can allow him in his new home.

“I just, I don’t get it, Joe!” Pete says, biting his nails. “I mean, animals usually love me, y’know? Hemingway loves me, right? Right, Hemingway?” Pete calls out, looking around the room. A set of claws clicks from the other room and Hemingway finally appears, grunting as he nudges Pete’s knee and climbs onto the couch with a noise of exertion. 

Joe stands up, dusts his hands off and goes to the couch to cuddle Hemingway lovingly. Patrick jumps onto his bookcase shelf and watches them from above. “Of course he does, dude,” Joe says, rubbing his nose against Hemingway’s damp one. “P.D. probably hates you because of the shitty name you gave him.” 

Patrick nods to himself. This Joe has some common sense to him, then. He eyes the bulldog speculatively. 

“Hey up there,” Hemingway snuffles deeply, looking at Patrick while rolling so Joe can scratch his belly. “I’m Phil. It’ll probably just be easier if you learn to live with the name. If you don’t, he’ll just make sad faces at you all the time, and that’s just pathetic.” 

“Patrick,” Patrick replies, licking at his claw sheaths instead of answering Phil’s request. “What’d he name you after?” he asks finally, sort of curious. 

Phil snorts. “The guy who wrote a lot of the books on the shelf under yours. I don’t mind it, much. I was little when Pete got me, so I’m more used to it than Phil. You can call me it, if you want.” 

“You can’t call me Pumpkin Dumplings,” Patrick hisses quietly, so Pete and Joe don’t look up at him. No way in hell will he ever go by that hideous second-name. 

“I wouldn’t want to call you that,” Phil—Hemingway says, yawning. “It’s embarrassing just to say it.” He yawns again and licks his chops, closing his eyes for a long nap. 

Patrick stays on his shelf, tail flicking back and forth in annoyance as he watches Joe and Pete talk. Eventually they grab two small things with cords attached to them and start to make loud grunting noises at the television. Patrick will never understand humans.

\---

When all's said and done, Patrick doesn’t really mind Hemingway so much. He’s not really that much of a dog, since he doesn’t chase Patrick and he doesn’t bark that often, so he’s pretty alright in Patrick’s opinion. Hemingway sleeps in Pete’s bed at night, and since Pete stares at him with wet eyes until Patrick jumps off the bookcase and goes after him, Patrick sleeps curled up with him. 

He also doesn’t hate living at Pete’s, as long as Pete doesn’t call him that stupid name. There’s a lot of food and people who come and pay attention to him, and no obnoxious siblings or breeders who try to push girls on him and try to groom him. Fuck that. He’s seen cats come home from shows. They look ridiculous. 

Joe comes back every few days and he starts to bring another guy, a redheaded guy who Patrick adores, if cats did such a thing. The guy’s name is Andy and he always has something new and tasty for Patrick to try when he comes over. He also lets Patrick monopolize his lap and demand pets, even though Patrick rarely purrs to him in reward. Andy is undemanding, and he would make a perfect cat, in Patrick’s opinion. He might even make a half-decent Persian. 

Pete always sulks when they come over, because Patrick never pays that much attention to him. He’s much like a kitten that’s been told he can’t play right now, in that respect and it makes Patrick roll his eyes. Pete acts more like a misbehaved kitten than a human.

Largely, Patrick gets used to living in Pete’s house. Pete, he’s learned, has gotten used to Patrick habitually peeing on the floors in retaliation for his name. 

\---

Two months after he first arrived at the Wentz household, Pete wakes him up far too early with a giant grin and an uncomfortably tight pointy hat. Pete holds Patrick up in the air under his arms and Patrick stares at him with disbelief writ all over his face. 

“Happy birthday!” Pete shouts, making Patrick wince, ears pressing flat to his skull. “I called the lady who sold you to me a while ago, and she said today would be your first birthday. So, happy birthday Pumpkin Dumplings!” 

It’s too early for a bowel movement, so Patrick just hisses at Pete. 

Undeterred, Pete carries him to the living room, where Joe, Andy, Hemingway, Mikey, Alicia and Bunny are sitting at a low table, pointy hats on their heads. There’s a large cake in the middle of the table and if it wasn’t for that, Patrick would probably try to claw Pete’s heart out.

“Damn, he got big,” Alicia remarks, petting Bunny as Pete plops Patrick down on the floor and then sits next to him. 

Pete glares and covers Patrick’s ears. “That’s mean, Alicia. Do you want Pumpkin Dumplings to have poor self esteem when he grows up?” he asks, taking his hands back when Patrick tries to bite them. 

Snickering, Bunny purrs at him. “She’s right. The birthday boy certainly has gotten big.” If cats could leer, he’s pretty sure she would be. 

“Shut it,” he mumbles, looking away and squatting on the floor uncomfortably. Bunny didn’t even remember her real name, for goodness sake. And she was creepy. Patrick always lost the ability to talk properly around her. 

“Kids,” Hemingway sighs, head heavy on Joe’s knee as Joe pats him. “Save it for later.”

Pete prattles on about how since it’s Patrick’s birthday, he gets the first slice, and then argues with Andy for ten minutes about the bakery he bought the cake from. “They said it was cat and people friendly!” he says, red-faced. “So shut up and eat your damn cake!” 

The square of cake on the plate Pete puts in front of him looks sort of appetizing, but Patrick just stares at it for a while. He’s not going to eat on command; he’s not a dog. He finally takes a few bites after Hemingway and Joe scarf theirs down. Pete beams at him happily and Patrick ignores the way his chest wants to let out a little purr in reply. 

\---

Pete’s strange friend Ryan is over, again, when Patrick wakes up from his mid-morning nap. Ryan, in Patrick’s opinion would have made a great bird. He was always colourful and his hair stuck up weird and his clothing was much like the patterns of the exotic birds on one of the shows Pete liked to watch late at night. Something about Earth. He was also always off somewhere else, looking like he was on catnip or something equally as distasteful. 

When Patrick pokes his head over the edge of the bookshelf and looks down, he can see that Ryan’s got something small and black in his arms. Something that smells like cat. Hemingway is already at Ryan’s feet, slobbering on his shoes and snuffling up at the thing in Ryan’s arms when Patrick jumps off his shelf to investigate. 

“Who’s that?” Patrick asks, nose in the air to sniff. He ignores the way Pete is saying his name, because that’s what he does. 

“Dunno,” Hemingway answers, rubbing his nose against Ryan’s pants leg. 

“See?” Pete asks, pointing down at them. “They’ll be best friends, Ryan! You can totally leave him here while you work. We’ll have a great time.”

Ryan makes a face at Pete, but puts his cat down, watching Hemingway and Patrick carefully. Patrick circles the new cat, sniffing once before turning tail and going back to his shelf. Hemingway snorts at him and flops down, tired. Because he’s a bulldog, he’s got breathing problems, and it usually results in him snorting and puffing instead of breathing properly. Patrick finds it comforting. 

“What’s your name?” Hemingway asks the cat. 

It looks delighted at him and climbs onto his back before curling up into a little ball and purring loudly. “Brendon!” He chirps happily. “Ryan calls me Oscar Wilde, though. Who’re you?” he asks, and Patrick is surprised he doesn’t dig his claws into Hemingway and start to knead.

“Phil, but you can call me Hemingway. That’s Patrick up there. Ignore him, he’s just pissy because Pete named him Pumpkin Dumplings.” Hemingway snorts, but Patrick is going to take that as one of his natural noises. 

“Hi Patrick!” Brendon says happily, tail practically fluttering. 

Patrick doesn’t have the patience for kittens, anymore. But he does notice that Oscar Wilde’s name is on his bookshelf. He’s not really surprised. 

\---

The first time Brendon comes over without Ryan attached, he smells bad and he’s covered in what Patrick guesses is milk. He looks like he fell into someone’s cereal bowl which, knowing Brendon, is probably exactly what happened. Pete puts him on the floor and tells him, “Have a good time, little dude!” and hums to himself as he flops onto the couch. Truthfully, Patrick has no idea what Pete even does all day. 

Patrick rolls his eyes and goes over to Brendon, grabbing him by the scruff and dragging him over to a corner. “How’d you get so filthy?” he asks, pinning Brendon down with both front paws. 

Delighted, Brendon lets Patrick move him as he will. “I was scaling Ryan, and I fell into his cereal! But before I could clean myself, Pete came over and then I was here.” He purrs happily as Patrick starts to lick his head and chest clean. 

“For goodness…You couldn’t clean yourself while you were in the car?” Honestly, what sort of cat lets himself walk around so dirty? Patrick moves to Brendon’s back, making him squirm a little with a laugh. “Stay still.” He suddenly has so much more affection for his mother.

Brendon shakes his head. “Nope. I was exploring the car. Did you know Pete keeps string in there? It came out of nowhere when I was in the back. But I fought back the attack and emerged victorious.” His little chest puffs up and Patrick has to bite back a sigh. 

To be such a young kitten again.

\---

“What are you doing?” Brendon asks, poking his head into Patrick’s shelf, claws helping him stay dangling between Patrick’s and the one below it. It’s a stupidly dangerous move.

“Shush,” Patrick says, staring at Pete, who’s across the room, scribbling in a notebook. When Brendon looks like he’s about to slip, Patrick grabs his scruff and pulls him up into the shelf, ignoring the way Brendon knocks his head against his side and purrs in thanks. 

“Why are we watching Pete?” Brendon whispers, ducking down and staring at Pete curiously.

Patrick rolls his eyes. “See that book he’s writing in?” he asks, nodding at the composition notebook Pete is huddled over. Brendon nods. “I’m going to eat it. And the next time he calls me Pumpkin Dumplings, I’m going to cough it up on his desk.” 

Brendon recoils from Patrick, almost losing his balance on the perch. “Patrick! Why would you do something like that! That’s bad! Pete would be really, really sad!” 

Finally, Patrick breaks his one-sided staring contest with the back of Pete’s head and looks at Brendon. “You clearly don’t get it. My people are a proud one, Brendon,” he says, sitting back on his haunches, head held high. “We have won shows for years. We are too grand to be reduced to something as common as Pumpkin Dumplings. I will have respect, or I will have fear.” 

It’s quiet for a few seconds except for the scratching of Pete’s pen against paper. Brendon stares at him in horrid fascination. “Um. Okay. I’m…going to go play with Hemingway, now.” He backs away slowly before dropping off of the shelf. 

“Suit yourself,” Patrick mumbles, crouching back down and staring at Pete, tip of his tail twitching. 

\---

There’s only one thing in Pete’s house that Patrick loves. Pete turns the stereo or record player on and Patrick will stop in his tracks, wherever he is, and listen. 

There wasn’t anything like music in his first home—his human sometimes hummed, but it was toneless and sort of obnoxious. There were a few alley cats near the house that sung at night, but—and Patrick can admit it easily—cats just weren’t that good at singing.

Granted, Pete is sort of horrible at it, too, but Patrick can overlook it. He can overlook it because Pete owns something that produces music when he fiddles with the metal strings.

Sometimes, Joe and Andy would come over, with their own music things and sticks, and they would go to Pete’s basement and make music together. Patrick would hop onto a speaker and curl up and listen. The volume would make his bone ache, but it was a good sort of ache.

“Hey,” Andy said one time, putting his sticks down. The others stopped, too. 

“What, man?” Pete asked, going over to rub the spot between Patrick’s ears. It was the only time he allowed physical affection from Pete. 

“Is it just me, or does P.D. seem to really like it when we play.” He doesn’t word it like a question and Patrick rumbled a little in reward for his perception. 

Pete laughed, pressing his nose to Patrick’s back. “Seems like I got a musical cat, then. I knew we were a perfect match.” 

When Patrick leaned back to bite him, it wasn’t as hard as usual. 

\---

Pete takes to talking to Patrick whenever he plays music. Patrick doesn’t actually mind, surprisingly. 

“And this is a bass. I can’t play it spectacularly well. I mean, I’m sure you could do better, but whatever. I like it. I was in a few bands, in my day, y’know.” Pete looks a little wistful, petting the pick guard—as Patrick had learned from Joe’s lessons on “guitar”—absently. “I wasn’t always a shut-in,” he continues, looking back at Patrick with a grin. “But I feel like I have better company nowadays, anyways.” He laughs. 

Patrick jumps onto the couch and steps onto Pete’s bass, enjoying the feeling of steel between the pads of his feet. Pete gives him a worried look. 

“You’re not going to pee on it, are you?” he asks. “I’m pretty sure that might break it.” He taps his knuckles against the body. Patrick yowls a little impatiently and butts his head against Pete’s chin, rubbing the length of his body across his hand when Pete lifts it. “Oh,” Pete says, a little awed. “Oh, hey. Awesome.”

\---

The day Ryan and Brendon come over and Brendon is a human is probably the day Patrick’s life as he knows it, ends.

Pete asks, "Where's Oscar?" as soon as Brendon crows, "Phil! Patrick! I'm big!" 

"Wait, what?" Pete asks, bewildered as Brendon goes over to Pumpkin Dumplings and scoops him up for a hug. Patrick just lets out a rusty purr when Brendon nuzzles his head, because as much as Ross says he’s a heartless beast, Patrick actually does like Brendon. "Who the fuck is that?" Pete asks. 

Patrick doesn’t have time to pay attention to the other two because Brendon is babbling at him about being a human now and having Ryan and how great Ryan is and how awesome thumbs are or something. 

“Wait, hush,” Patrick interrupts, making Brendon quiet down. “You can understand me?” Brendon nods. “Holy fuck, okay. Look, tell Pete that if he calls me Pumpkin Dumplings one more time, I’m going to pee all over his record collection. And I won’t even feel bad about it, either.” He would, really, but this is getting ridiculous. 

Brendon walks over to Pete and Ryan, Patrick still cradled safely in his arms. He sits down and lets Hemingway lick his face, since he can't actually pick him up, too. Patrick actually feels pretty serene, even if his purr sounds like a broken motor as Brendon translates for him. Brendon beams as he looks up at Pete. "Hi, Pete. I'm human, now." 

Pete is silent for a few seconds, staring down at Brendon. "Patrick?" Pete finally asks, squatting down so he's level with Brendon and the other animals. 

"Mmhm," Brendon nods, holding Patrick up a bit for Pete to see. "His name is Patrick, and he hates Pumpkin Dumplings. That's why he pees everywhere. He thought maybe you'd learn, but you never did." Hemingway nudges Brendon's knee with his nose. "Oh, and Phil says he doesn't mind Hemingway, so you can call him that, if you want. He thinks it sounds more distinguished than Phil, anyways." 

"You're Oscar?" Pete asks, looking at Brendon again. He whispers, "Holy shit," after Brendon nods. 

"He actually goes by Brendon, now," Ryan interrupts. Pete nods absently. 

"Well, fuck," Pete says, reaching out to pet Patrick's head. Patrick looks at him wearily but allows the contact and Brendon smiles again, giggling. 

Patrick looks back at him and rolls his eyes. “Way to just fucking dump it on him like that,” he says and Brendon shrugs.

"So, wait. Can you become human?" Pete asks Patrick, taking him from Brendon's arms. Hemingway takes the opportunity to crawl halfway into Brendon's lap, demanding affection that Brendon gives easily. 

Patrick swishes his tail from side to side, agitated to be hanging in the air. "Um," Brendon starts, looking up at them. He doesn’t even have to speak for Brendon to know what he’s going to say. "You should probably not do that, because he said he's gonna claw your face up if you don't put him down this instant." 

Quickly, Pete puts Patrick back down on the ground, patting his back and making soothing noises. Patrick puts up with the indignity pretty well, considering. "You can talk to them?" Pete asks Brendon, still stroking Patrick's back. 

"Yup," Brendon says, nodding. "I mean, I can't forget my natural language, just because I'm not a cat anymore. That'd be like you going somewhere they don't speak English, then you forgetting English after you learn the other language." 

Pete nods back, looking contemplative. "Well. Dinner should be here in a few minutes, so I guess I can get the dining room set up and shit." He gets up, giving one last longing look at Patrick before he goes into the kitchen. 

"You should be nicer to him," Brendon admonishes, wagging a finger at Patrick. 

Patrick turns his back on Brendon and bends down to lick himself. “No I shouldn't. I’m not the one who wants to lick my human all over, so I don’t have to be nice to him at all.”

Brendon flushes slightly and averts his eyes. "Shut up, I do not. You're vulgar." Patrick won’t disagree.

\---

The next few months go by in one afternoon’s nap, in Patrick’s opinion. It doesn’t take very long for him to adjust to Brendon’s newfound humanity, since he was never a very dignified cat to begin with. The only thing he can’t accept is Pete’s insistence that Patrick become a human, now, too. 

Patrick doesn’t want to become a human, though. Patrick likes being a cat. He’s proud of it. Being a cat is the best thing in the world to be. He wouldn’t want to be anything else; especially not a human. 

After the first month of begging, Patrick pulls Brendon aside and says, “You tell him to stop asking me to be a human. Tell him right now or I’ll claw his eyes out. It’s driving me up the wall.” Patrick is tired of Pete’s wobbly lips and big eyes. He’s like a kitten with brain problems. He isn’t sure how much longer he can take Pete coming up to him every hour to ask him to be a human. 

Brendon gives him a sympathetic look and pats him on the head. “I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry about it, Patrick. It’ll be okay.” 

Nodding, Patrick goes back to his shelf and stares balefully out at Pete. 

\---

“Shit, they gave you living things to look after?” Patrick asks, staring over the edge of the padded crate at the tiny kittens crawling around inside. 

“Because he loves me,” Brendon corrects, smile firmly put on his face. He watches his kittens with a silly, love-struck look. 

There’s a tiny orange one in the corner, digging at the blankets for some reason. Patrick watches it for a few seconds before turning to Brendon. “What’re their names?” Patrick isn’t long enough to reach into the crate even though he wants to pick up the orange one. The grey one crawls over and starts to help dig. 

“Dunno, yet,” Brendon says, watching them happily. “I’m gonna let them name themselves, but I don’t understand anything they’re saying, yet. I guess it’s like human babies; they have to learn to talk and stuff.”

Patrick isn’t surprised, not really. Of course Brendon would let them name themselves. “Please don’t let them name themselves something ridiculous. They have to live with those, you know. You don’t want the tom down the street to tease them because of their names.” 

Brendon sniffs. “No one would dare make fun of my kittens. Ryan would totally shank a bitch.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Patrick mumbles, shaking his head. The tiny vocabulary Brendon had as a cat hasn’t really gone very far, as a human, in Patrick’s opinion. “Their first words are going to be curses, you know? That’s no way to raise a kitten.” He flexes his claws and comes to a decision. “Hand me the orange one, will you?” 

“Why?” Brendon asks, finally tearing his gaze away from the kittens to give Patrick a funny look. 

“Somebody needs to take the time to teach him about life, properly. Besides, he’s orange. I like orange.” It’s true, Patrick does like orange. It’s his favorite colour. Also, the orange one seems like the odd one out, so Patrick’s sure he’ll need Patrick a lot more than the others.

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Brendon agrees, reaching in to pick up the orange kitten. It mewls at him immediately, but not in a bad way. In a sort of happy-to-see-its-mommy way. It makes Patrick think of his own mom, a little bit. Brendon sets the kitten down on the floor gently and Patrick gets back down on all four paws, leaning to pick the kitten up by the scruff of its neck.

“Hey, where’s he going?” Ryan asks, pointing at Patrick and their kitten warily. Patrick rolls his eyes and flicks his tail. 

“Oh, um, it’s okay,” Brendon says, shrugging. “Patrick’s not gonna hurt him or anything. They’re just talking. Don’t worry about it. The scruff thing doesn’t hurt, either, I promise.” He goes back to staring at the rest of his kittens and Patrick huffs smugly at Ryan, even if he can’t hear it.

Ryan watches him, suspicious as Patrick takes his kitten to the dining room. Patrick sets it down and it looks up at him, all tiny faced and wobbly limbed. 

“Okay. Lesson one: Humans are Crazy…” 

\---

Patrick has lessons with the orange cat—who’s decided his name is Argyle, after Patrick’s favorite patterned throw pillows, which is the right way to go, in Patrick’s opinion—once every two weeks, since apparently he’s busy learning other things. Like the best daytime soaps or something, Patrick doesn’t pretend to understand. 

It’s sort of nice, really. Argyle isn’t too chatty, which is good. Not like Curtains, anyways. He’s never met a cat who babbles quite so much as Curtains does. It’s quite clear who influences that one. Patrick doesn’t mind when the others come over, but he largely keeps to himself and Argyle. The others are too noisy for his taste. 

It’s not a bad life. Not as hectic as it could be, considering the company his human keeps. And now that Pete’s gotten down to only asking him once a week if he’d turn, everything’s relatively normal again. Patrick likes that. He can give his lessons, and look after his human, and everything is good. 

\---

Pete crawls into bed, wrapping himself around Patrick. He doesn’t hug too tightly, so Patrick allows it, without even nipping once at the arm over his side. He’s either really tired or going soft, but he doesn’t feel like figuring out which. 

Pressing his nose into Patrick’s fur, Pete heaves a great sigh. “It’s only because if you were human, it would be okay for me to love you,” Pete whispers, curling closer around Patrick. He closes his eyes and for the first time since Patrick came to the house, he falls asleep quickly.

Unfortunately, Patrick stays awake in a fit of very un-catlike insomnia.

\---

Patrick crawls back into the bed, more clumsy than he’s used to. He doesn’t like it at all. Having so much of him throws his balance and coordination off. Things look and smell funny and he can’t hear as well as he usually can, which is completely throwing him off. Pete grumbles when the bed shifts, but he doesn’t wake up, so Patrick does the only thing he knows to get his attention. 

“Goddamnit Pumpkin—” Pete swats out at him, but when his hand meets flesh instead of fur, he pauses. He moves his hand so that he can stroke Patrick’s arm but he doesn’t open his eyes. “This is either a really awesome dream, or it’s going to end really, really badly for me, I think.” 

“You don’t ever shut up, do you?” Patrick asks, voice thick and sort of stupid-sounding over the words. Brendon told him he had a few hours before Ryan got home to practice talking, but Patrick didn’t. At least he didn’t have the fangs to make it worse.

Pete doesn’t open his eyes, but he does smile. “So an awesome dream, then. Should I open my eyes, or will this turn into a nightmare, if I do?” 

Looking down at himself, Patrick shrugs. He has sort of a tummy, but he was big as a cat. He feels oddly naked and pink—which might have something to do with the lack of clothes, but whatever. Honestly, he doesn’t think he looks too bad, for a human. His face does feel a bit rounder than he’s used to, though, and he has to squint to see shit properly. “Well, I mean. I don’t think I look as bad as a nightmare, but I didn’t really have any say in the matter, y’know?”

Finally, finally, Pete opens one eye and squints at him. There’s a lamp on its lowest setting near the bed so Pete can still see him properly. His other eye opens, both going wide in surprise. “You don’t look like any of my dreams. Are you new?” 

Patrick rolls his eyes. Were humans always this dense? “I’m not one of your dreams, asshole. Do I look dream-like, to you? Do I feel dream-like?” He might have spent a lot of time watching daytime television with Pete, so he knows that pinching people usually proves to them that they’re not dreaming. 

Pete yelps and covers his injured arm immediately. “How should I know if that’s real or not? You can hurt in dreams, too.” 

“Really?” Patrick asks curiously. Television never said anything about that. 

“Maybe,” Pete says, shrugging. “If you’re not a dream, who are you?” 

Patrick shrugs, waving a hand. “I know I don’t look as good as Brendon does, but, I mean, I didn’t really get to say hey, turn me into a human, and oh yeah, I want to look like this, now did I?” he asks, frowning. Humans didn’t seem to like other humans to be pudgy, but what could Patrick do? It wasn’t his fault Pete fed him so much, or that whatever decided to grant his wish did it in this fashion. 

It’s silent for a few seconds, and Patrick can see the way Pete is working it out because he can see perfectly well in the dark, still. He knows Pete’s got it when his eyes go wide. “Wait, wait, holy shit. Patrick?” he asks, voice quiet in disbelief. 

His tone makes Patrick roll his eyes. “Yes, Patrick. It’s not like this isn’t what you’ve been bothering me about for the past however long or anything,” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. There is no good reason Pete should keep the A/C on so high when he sleeps. Without his fur, he’s freezing; the stuff on his head and arms is nowhere near enough. 

“Holy shit, Patrick,” Pete repeats and Patrick opens his mouth to be sarcastic, but Pete beats him to it by pulling him in for the tightest hug of Patrick’s life. First hug of his life, actually. Which, hey, isn’t as bad as he thought it’d be. 

Pete moves his hand up to Patrick’s head, and pets him, right behind his ear, like he would when Patrick was a cat and Patrick can’t help but let out a rusty purr at that. It just feels so good, even as a human. 

“Oh my god,” Pete says softly, and when Patrick opens his eyes, he’s beaming. “That’s the first time you’ve purred for me! You really do love me!” 

Patrick rolls his eyes and lets himself melt into Pete’s embrace. He really loves to be pet as a human, and he hopes Pete keeps doing it for a long time to come. 

\---

When Patrick wakes up the next morning, it’s hard. He’s not used to actually sleeping as much as napping, and everything is confusing when he opens his eyes. But when he turns to look, he sees Pete staring at him. 

“What?” he mumbles, moving one hand to rub at his eyes. It feels like there’s sand in them. 

“You’re a real boy,” Pete says softly, reaching out to touch Patrick’s cheek. “I thought I’d dreamed you up, but when I woke up, you were right there.” He smiles, suddenly, and Patrick can feel his face getting hot. 

“Of course I’m right here. I told you I was real,” he says, folding his arms over his chest in a huff. The motion makes the sheet slip down a little, and Pete’s eyes follow, widening when he sees that Patrick’s nakedness goes all the way down. 

“Holy shit, you’re naked. Does that mean we’re having sex? Like right now?” His hands go for his shirt, ready to pull it off. 

Patrick flinches back, shocked. “No! What the hell, Pete? I’m like this one day and you’re already trying to jump me? I’m not Mikey, you know.” Patrick knows all about Mikey and Pete. And possibly also Alicia. She’s creepy just like her cat. 

Pete pouts a little, but stops trying to take his shirt off, which is the most important part. “You sure?” he asks, eyes trailing down a little lower than Patrick is comfortable with.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Patrick says, jerking the sheet back up to cover to his neck. “And I would appreciate it if you got me some clothes. I don’t like being stared at like that, and it’s your fault I’m like this, anyways.” 

Sighing, Pete nods and gets out of bed, going to his closet. 

\---

Ryan and Brendon come over with the kittens and while Pete is waving his hands and saying something or other at Ryan, Patrick is sitting on the couch, avoiding Brendon. But simple things like wanting to be left alone are obviously over Brendon’s head. 

He walks up to Patrick, a kitten on each shoulder and points. “I knew it! I knew you were the same!” 

Patrick glares and reaches up to pluck Argyle from Brendon’s shoulder. “You know nothing,” he hisses, stroking the kitten’s stomach with his new fingers. “And I will kindly thank you to shut the hell up about things you know nothing of.” 

Grinning, Brendon waggles his finger at Patrick. “You can’t fool me, Mr. grumpy-pants. I know you. I know that I’m right. So ha.” Curtains starts to slip from his shoulder and Brendon catches him, grinning sheepishly at Ryan’s glare. “Oops.” 

Pete settles himself next to Patrick on the couch and pets Argyle carefully, nuzzling against Patrick’s neck. Sighing, Patrick rolls his eyes. This is hopeless. 

\---

Pete, Patrick has learned, isn’t very subtle at all when it comes to trying to seduce people into his bed. Largely, his “seduction techniques” amount to making dopey eyes at whoever he wants, and draping himself all over them. It’s highly ineffective with Patrick because Brendon drapes himself all over him all the time, and Pete isn’t really that good at being alluring. Patrick is a cat. He knows alluring. 

“C’mon, Patrick,” Pete whines, flopping himself on the couch where Patrick is trying to read a magazine, and wiggling his way into having his head in Patrick’s lap. “Why won’t you sleep with me?” 

“I do sleep with you, Pete. Every night,” Patrick calmly explains, flipping to the next page.

“Woah, woah, I don’t think I’m old enough to hear this,” Joe says, hands going up in a defensive gesture. Andy rolls his eyes at him.

“But you won’t sleep with me naked or have fun sexytimes with me,” Pete continues, ignoring his friends in favor of tracing random patterns on Patrick’s newly-jean-clad-thigh.

Patrick finally sets his magazine aside and looks down at Pete, brow quirked. It was a move he’d picked up from Andy. “That’s because I don’t want to.” 

Pouting, Pete looks up at him with big, earnest eyes. “Sure you do. You just don’t know that yet.” 

“Should we be putting a stop to this?” Joe asks quietly to Andy, but everyone can still hear him. He’s pretty awful at whispering. 

“I dunno. I think it’d be fun to see how exactly it goes down in flames,” Andy says back, voice normal pitch. Patrick wonders if he can take back his first assessment of him. 

\---

Patrick spends a little time every day in the basement, playing around with the instruments down there. Andy keeps his spare kit there, and Pete has a guitar as well as a bass, so Patrick has a lot to occupy his time. Usually, he sneaks down when Pete is on the phone with his publicist or editor or ex-boyfriend/-girlfriend. The basement is basically sound-proofed, so Patrick doesn’t feel bad, banging on shit, or trying to learn guitars on a trial and error basis. 

He’s actually gotten sort of good at drums, if he does say so himself. Human fingers totally came in handy, sometimes, and Patrick was really happy that he could finally make music for himself. It was awesome, listening to other people, but he wanted to make it, too. 

“Hey, I didn’t know you were a musical cat.” 

The flimsy melody Patrick was working on stops with a loud, jarring noise and he glares up at Pete for interrupting him. “Well, I am,” he says stonily, gripping the neck of the guitar harder than he needs to. He’s pretty sure he could beat Pete to death if he tried to take it from him. 

Pete puts his hands up. “Woah, hey, no need to get snippy on me, there. It’s just pretty awesome, okay? Do you sing, too?” 

Patrick shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t tried. Cats aren’t really known for their great vocal outpourings, you know.” 

“Well then try,” Pete says, sitting on the bottom step and looking at Patrick with a smile. The fact that he hasn’t cracked one joke or hit on Patrick yet is what makes Patrick take his fingers from around the frets of the guitar, open his mouth, and sing the first thing that pops into his head. 

He doesn’t realize he’s shut his eyes until he’s done and he opens them, looking at Pete curiously. Pete is staring at him wide-eyed, leaning forward enough that it looks like he’s going to fall. “Holy shit. You can do that all the time?” he asks, sounding more awed than he has any right to. 

Patrick crosses his arms over his chest, shifting from foot to foot. “I guess,” he says slowly, drawing the word out. 

“I think I’ll definitely be keeping you, then,” Pete says, excited. Patrick sighs. 

\---

Pete doesn't necessarily try to push Patrick into having sex with him, but Patrick knows he's being patient. Or, well, as close to patient as Pete can get, really. Because it's not really "patience" as much as it is Pete throwing himself at Patrick, trying to get his hands up his shirt or down his pants and Patrick threatening to bite him. And not in a sexy way, either. 

"It's not fair," Pete whines, throwing himself down onto the couch next to Patrick. 

Patrick doesn't even bother to look away from the television as he says, "Hmm?"

"Brendon went into heat, you know. He threw himself at Ryan, and they fucked for like, a week and a half. Why don't you go into heat?" Pete asks, trying to get in the way of the television to make Patrick look at him. He's always trying to get Patrick's attention. 

"I don't go into heat because I'm not retarded," Patrick explains easily, holding Pete down on the couch with one hand to his head while he watches his program. Pete struggles for a bit before giving up and holding onto Patrick's hand with a death grip. 

"Brendon's not retarded. I'm pretty sure Ryan would be really pissed if he heard you say that about his beau," Pete points out, still pouting. 

Patrick finally looks away from the television to stare at Pete blankly. "Pete. He grew up thinking he was a girl. Thinking he could have kittens. I'm pretty sure he's a little bit retarded."

Pete rolls his eyes and makes a face at him. "Well, he got kittens, didn't he?" 

Looking back to the television, Patrick ignores him. Bah, kittens.

\---

Much like what happened with the whole 'human issue', Patrick gives in to Pete about the sex thing after a while. It doesn't even really take that long, considering. 

"You know, you shouldn't let him pressure you into that sort of thing," Andy says, reading a comic on the couch after they get done playing in the basement. Patrick still goes down and listens, but he can't fit on top of the amps, anymore, so he sits down on the stairs and watches. Pete tries to get him to sing, or play, but Patrick is a little afraid that Andy and Joe won't like him--not that he would ever admit that out loud or anything. 

Patrick has his head on Andy's thigh, letting the other pet him as he reads. "It's not like I don't think he's physically attractive. I mean, for a human, anyways." Patrick pauses. "No offense." 

"None taken, dude," Andy says easily, putting his comic down for the first time in ten minutes, looking at Patrick. "Just because he's hot doesn't mean you have to sleep with him. That's not really how it goes, y'know?" 

"Yeah, I know," Patrick says, nodding. Of course he knows that. He's read plenty of books by now, and he spends a lot of time watching television. He's still dubious about the computer, though. "I like him though. Yeah, he's annoying and acts more like a kid than anything else, but he's a good guy. And it's not like we don't already sleep in the same bed, anyways."

Sighing, Andy strokes the hair away from Patrick's face. "I'm not sure that's a good enough reason for you to decide to do this, Patrick. Sex is about intimacy. Plus, once you fuck Wentz, he's never gonna leave you alone. You sure you really wanna get into this?" 

Patrick looks away as he says, "Yeah, I'm sure." He doesn't say anything about how it's not just about how Pete's a nice guy, and that it's convenient. Against his better judgment, he seems to have grown some sort of attraction to Pete over the months he's been a human. He has no idea how it happened, really. 

Really. 

\---

Patrick lies on the bed, completely naked in a way he hasn't been since he transformed and demanded Pete buy him clothes, waiting for Pete. He doesn't really have to wait long, since it's not like Pete ever sleeps unless Patrick's there with him. He claims it's because Patrick's beautiful breathing lulls him to sleep, but Patrick is pretty sure it's because he likes to cop feels when Patrick's half-asleep.

When Pete finally comes in, he pauses in the doorway, eyes looking over Patrick's naked outline under the sheets before they get wide. "Patrick?" he asks, voice oddly soft. 

"Yeah?" Patrick says, trying not to squirm with the way Pete is looking at him. 

"What, uh. What're you doing?" Pete asks, edging closer to the bed, like he can't help it. He probably can't, either. 

Taking a deep breath for courage, Patrick sits up, letting the sheet pool to his hips. He smiles a little to himself when Pete's eyes follow the progression of the sheet, getting wider as more skin is revealed. "What do you think I'm doing, Pete?" he asks, voice lazy and drawing.

Pete seems to freeze for a second, before looking up into Patrick's eyes. "Seriously?" he whispers, fingers clenching around the bottom of his shirt. He looks so fucking hopeful. Patrick can feel something stir in his chest at the look. 

"Yeah, Pete," he says back, just as soft. "You wanna c'mere?" 

At the question, Pete takes a flying leap towards the bed, clutching at Patrick and trying to rip his clothes off at the same time. "Holy fuck, oh my God, Patrick," he says, words tumbling over one another as he strips himself in record time. "I can't believe, oh, God." 

He catches Patrick's head between his hands when he's finally naked and leans in, pressing his lips to Patrick's. He keeps it chaste, keeps kissing Patrick over and over again until Patrick makes an impatient noise against his mouth. 

"Jesus, Patrick," Pete mumbles, opening his mouth to lick into Patrick's. 

Patrick went online and looked up sex between to males, and he sort of knows what he's supposed to do, what Pete's going to do, but he's still unprepared for when Pete pulls the sheet away and grabs Patrick's cock, fisting him easily. 

"Fuck," Patrick hisses, burying his face in the crook of Pete's neck. He arches into the grip, panting open-mouthed into Pete's skin. He didn't think it would feel this good. 

"Hey, hey, look at me," Pete says, voice hoarse. When Patrick looks up, Pete leans down and kisses him again, sucking on Patrick's tongue. "You want me to blow you?" he asks, when he pulls back. 

Patrick looks at him, momentarily confused, before he licks his lip. "I thought you were going to fuck me?" he asks, smiling a little when Pete's breath hitches. 

"You sure?" Pete asks, looking like he's trying to be a gentleman by making sure. 

"Yeah, I'm sure." 

Pete's smile is almost blinding, and Patrick smiles back, not even hesitantly. "Okay. Okay, great," Pete says, smile becoming a grin. 

He moves his hand over Patrick's cock slowly, agonizingly and Patrick whines, arching up into the grip. It feels so fucking good. He didn't know anything would ever feel this good. 

"Think that's good?" Pete asks, pushing Patrick back with his free hand so that he's lying against the bed. His eyes are dark, darker than usual, pupils blown. He looks like sex personified. "You'll love this, promise." 

He moves so that he can get to his bedside table. Digging around, he finally finds what he was looking for and makes a triumphant noise. What he has, when he comes back to hover over Patrick, is a bottle of something called Wet. Patrick knows what it's used for, and even though he's not embarrassed to have it happen, he can still feel his cheeks heating up when he sees it.

Pete pops open the cap and pours some on his palm, dipping his fingers into the puddle. He grabs Patrick's cock again and strokes as slowly as before, but it's a better slide, filthier now. He trails his fingers down Patrick's thighs and slips them behind his cock, circling his ass with one before sliding it in. 

Patrick makes a small noise in displeasure at it--he's not sure how he likes the way it feels. It sort of burns, and it's not a giant stretch, but it's enough for him to notice there's something there that's not really supposed to be. But he bites his lip and lets Pete keep pushing his finger in and out, waiting about a minute before pushing a second one in next to the first. 

The fact that Pete keeps jerking him is distracting him from the fact that two fingers is a lot more than one. It stretches more, burns a little more, hurts a little more. All things Patrick doesn't like. He's not really sure why this is such a big deal when it feels this way. 

Pete crooks his fingers and something explodes behind Patrick's eyes. "Holy fuck," he pants, arching his hips up into Pete's hand and then thrusting down onto his fingers. "Do that again, Please, fuck," he says, breath coming out in harsh pants. 

Grinning, Pete complies, watching Patrick's face with dark, dark eyes. "Like that, then?" he asks, keeping his fingers crooked so that he can stroke over whatever it is causing that reaction in Patrick. 

"Yeah, yeah," Patrick gasps, nodding. "C'mon, ready. Need you, Pete," he begs, eyes tightly shut. 

"You probably need one more," Pete says, voice sounding hesitant like he hasn't through this whole thing. 

Patrick opens his eyes only to glare at Pete. "I think I know my own body, Pete. I might not have had it very long, but it is mine. Get in me, now." 

"Fuck, fine," Pete says, grinning. "Like I'm gonna say no to you, Jesus. Calm the fuck down." He goes back to the drawer, slipping his fingers out of Patrick--and Patrick totally doesn't whimper at the empty feeling they leave behind--and brings back a little foil pack. "Do you want to use this or no? I'm clean, I promise." 

"Clean?" Patrick asks, nose scrunching. "You smell bad. How can you be clean? What's that?" he points at the packet. 

Sighing, Pete hands it to him. "I'm going to hell," he mumbles. "It's a condom. It's what guys wear so their come doesn't get in their partner. Usually because they a, don't want to get their partner pregnant, and or b, don't want to infect them with a sickness. But I'm clean. I got tested after my last ex. And you can't get pregnant, so it's your choice. Mostly, it's so there's less mess, after." 

Patrick stares at the condom in his hand for a few seconds before looking at Pete. "Which do you want?" he asks. 

Pete looks stricken for a half-beat before shrugging. "It feels better without, but we'll do what you want. I promise."

The foil packet crinkles between Patrick's fingers when he moves it from hand to hand. Finally, he sets it down on the bed and grabs Pete's arm, smiling at him and pulling him to lie on top of him. "I want you, no matter how messy it is." He doesn't understand everything about being clean and he knows he can't get pregnant, and he's pretty sure he's not sick, but he trusts Pete. Patrick lets himself finally think that--he trusts Pete to take care of him, no matter what. 

"You sure?" Pete asks again, eyeing the condom and Patrick in turns. "You have to be absolutely sure. It's a big decision." 

"I'm sure," Patrick says, squirming under Pete. "I'm also sure I'd like to have your hand back on my cock, because after all that talking, I don't feel as tingly as I did before." 

Pete throws his head back and laughs his loud donkey laugh, startling Patrick momentarily. "Yeah, yeah. How did I know you'd be pushy in bed?" he asks, dripping more wet on his hand. He re-slicks his two fingers and slides them in with no preamble, making Patrick make a loud, gasping noise. 

"We already did that," Patrick says breathlessly. 

"I know, but I wanted to make sure you were still okay," Pete mumbles, removing his fingers for the second time, wrapping his hand around his own cock to slick himself. He lines himself up and stares down at Patrick. "Relax, okay?" he says softly. 

Patrick takes a deep breath. He can feel the tip of Pete's cock at his ass, just waiting. He nods, biting his lip, and Pete pushes forward, sliding in. 

It's very different from two fingers. Pete's dick is wider and longer, and it seems like it's forever before he's done sliding in, hips pressed to Patrick's. Pete makes a harsh noise and buries his face in Patrick's neck, panting. Patrick thinks that Pete's waiting for Patrick to adjust, to tell him to move. 

The stretch is a lot, and it burns, but the wet helps with both. He takes in long breaths, trying to get his body to relax. He shifts his hips a bit and it doesn't feel bad anymore. It feels really fucking good actually. 

"You, uh. You should move, now," he says, and he's surprised with how wrecked his voice sounds. 

Pete licks his neck once before moving his hips. The slide out is weird, but Patrick doesn't even remember it when Pete fucks back into him, hard. He doesn't waste any time with going slow after Patrick tells him to move; he just thrusts as hard and as fast as he can with the angle he's at. 

With every thrust in, Patrick makes a breathy noise, trying to stop himself from moaning out too loudly. Pete sits up a bit, so that he's leaning over Patrick instead of lying on him, and it completely changes the angle. His next thrust has him hitting that spot that makes Patrick see white, hard. 

The moan that's ripped from Patrick's throat is like nothing he's ever heard before. Yeah, he watched porn to study up for this, but it feels so much better than it looked, definitely. All he can feel is Pete, inside him, on top of him. 

Patrick can feel something building in his hips and thighs, and he guesses that it's probably his orgasm. "Pete, Pete," he breathes out, clutching onto Pete's forearm hard. Vaguely, he's glad he doesn't have the claws that Brendon has, or Pete would probably be bleeding, right now. 

Pete grunts, keeps going, and every thrust hits that spot, dead on, and it makes Patrick almost cross-eyed. It feels so fucking good. 

"I need, ah, need you to touch me," he finally gets out, eyes clenching shut. Pete makes another noise and shakes his head. 

"I want you to touch yourself. I want to see," Pete says, words broken up by harsh pants. His thrusts are starting to go off rhythm, and Patrick guesses the answer. 

"O-okay," he says, moving the hand not wrapped around Pete's bicep to his stomach, sliding it down to his cock. It's still slick, from the wet Pete put their earlier, and from his own precome sliding down the head of his dick. Touching himself like this makes his hips arch up off the bed, another groan being ripped from his throat. 

Pete stares down at him, eyes wide, pupils blown so that all Patrick can see is black, everywhere. Patrick tries to touch himself to the same rhythm that Pete is thrusting into him, but as soon as the heat pools into his thighs, everything gets a little fuzzy, and Patrick's hips fuck up desperately into his hand. 

He sees white when he comes, shooting over his hand and stomach, and onto Pete a little bit. Patrick knows that he clenches down, because Pete gasps, hips stuttering until he comes too, slamming into Patrick as he draws out his orgasm. Patrick can feel the heat of Pete's come inside, spreading, and it makes him make an obscene noise. 

Pete flops down onto Patrick when he finishes, gasping for breath desperately. "Holy fuck," he says into Patrick's neck. Patrick can feel where they're sticking together, from sweat and come. It feels oddly good. 

"Yeah?" he asks, moving his head back so Pete can kiss his neck easier. His voice is oddly breathless again. 

"Fuck yeah, dude," Pete says, pulling back and grinning down at Patrick. "Good?" he asks, eyes going soft. He touches Patrick's cheek, wiping away some of the sweat that's all over. 

Patrick nods wildly, smiling when Pete laughs. "Very, very good. We're sticky everywhere." It's a pretty obvious observation. 

"Mmhm," Pete says, sounding satisfied. "We are. This is going to feel weird," he says, looking at Patrick apologetically. He slips out, with an obscene noise, and it does feel weird. Patrick just barely keeps himself from wincing at it. He feels empty, again, even though he knows he's not. There's still Pete's come inside him, and the thought makes his cock twitch weakly. Pete grins, eyebrows going up. "Really? Maybe you do go into heat." 

Rolling his eyes, Patrick swats at him. "I do not. We should get a shower, or we're never going to peel apart." 

"Maybe that was my master plan all along," Pete says, grinning devilishly. Patrick makes a face at that, because he really doesn't want to get stuck together, and Pete leans down, kissing his wrinkled noise. "Kidding, kidding. You want to go first, or do you want me to join you?" 

Patrick thinks it over for a few seconds. "If we shower together, will you blow me like you said you would?" 

Pete laughs that loud laugh again, and it's sort of obnoxious, but really, Patrick is sort of growing to be fond of it. "Yeah, sure. As long as you return the favor," Pete says, giving him a smoldering look and running his thumb along Patrick's bottom lip. "You have a mouth that is perfect for blowjobs." 

"Shut up," Patrick says, batting at Pete's hands and pretending he's not blushing again. Pete's grin tells him that he's not succeeding in that. 

"C'mon, get up. Time to shower. It's gonna feel weird, again," Pete warns, getting off of the bed and holding out a hand. 

Patrick knows it's going to feel weird, but, strangely, he doesn't mind. Because Pete did that to him. And that's good. 

\---

Condoms, Patrick learns, are necessary when Pete doesn't give Patrick time to shower and Patrick doesn't feel like walking around getting a mess in his boxers. Pete seems to think it's hilarious when Patrick makes faces after he sits down or gets up after they've fucked.

Joe shakes his head at them and covers his ears. "I don't know what you two do, and I don't want to know. Don't ever tell me. I'm too young to be scarred for life," he says loudly. Pete laughs at him and yells at him about Patrick's, "tight ass" to which Joe shouts and pretends he can't hear anything. 

Andy takes Patrick aside while Pete is chasing Joe around the house. "Is this okay? Is it what you want?" he asks, looking concerned and wise. 

"Yeah," Patrick says, smiling a bit when Pete races through the living room, hot on Joe's trail. "Yeah, it's good." He turns back to Andy, and Andy's looking at him weird. 

"Okay," Andy says, finally, nodding. "Good." He pats Patrick's head. "I'm happy for you. You seem happy." He sends Patrick a knowing look that makes Patrick flush and look away.

"Yeah, I guess I am," he mumbles. 

Pete finally stops chasing after Joe and comes back, throwing himself at Patrick. Patrick can't help but laugh when Pete starts to blow raspberries on his neck. When he looks again, Andy is giving him a fond look.

\---

Things are good, Patrick thinks. Really, really good. Pete insists on calling them a couple, which gets a little obnoxious, but Patrick puts up with it. For Pete’s sake. Argyle is developing quite nicely, and Patrick is proud of the progress. The rest of the kittens have to rely on Ryan and Brendon, and who knows what that will lead to, in the long run. 

Sometimes, Pete calls him his second name, again, and he ends up with urine-soaked laundry, but he takes it pretty well. Patrick has no problem doing what’s necessary. 

Pete is sprawled on the couch, Patrick curled up at his side, purring as Pete runs his hand up and down Patrick’s back. “Hey,” he says, voice soft in a way that usually only happens at night. Patrick makes a sleepy noise back at him. “Do you want me to get you kittens, too?” he asks, and even though it sounds silly, Patrick knows he’s completely serious. 

“If it’s okay with you,” Patrick says, voice sleep-rusty, “I’d rather a Gibson.” His eyes aren’t open, but Patrick knows that Pete is smiling softly down at him. 

“I think I can do that,” Pete says, getting back to petting Patrick. 

Pete doesn’t say I love you, and Patrick doesn’t say I love you, too. Cats are above that. 

And they both already know, anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was taken off the [ Big God Damn Masterlist](https://fobfics.tumblr.com/post/34177428707/okubyokitsunes-big-goddamn-masterlistpdf/) you can use that link to download the pdf of almost 500 pages of bandom fic.


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